


one punch man

by literatureonhowtolose



Series: i'd choose you over videogames [1]
Category: Youtubers, youtube - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Humor, Humorous Ending, M/M, lmao i don't know how to use tags i swear it's not terrible, or well i hope it isn't, they don't do youtube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6786802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literatureonhowtolose/pseuds/literatureonhowtolose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>«So what you're saying is you tried to physically fight me because you find me cute?»<br/>Mark makes a face. He'd known this was going to come off as weird, he just hadn't realized precisely how weird.<br/>«... pretty much.»</p><p> <br/>Mark's body just can't process alcohol, and his fists of fury know no chill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one punch man

**Author's Note:**

> It's my birthday today, and what better day to be productive and finish fics not to think about how trivial life is and how years are passing while I do absolutely nothing to achieve what I want to achieve? Yeah.  
> Anyway, I've been working on this for a while. The idea came from a prompt i found in a tumblr masterpost, I just thought "yeah okay why not let's give it a try" and sure enough, here I am. I've never written Septiplier before and I'm a bit nervous about it, but I'm also excited to finally contribute with a little something! I would like to make a series of little cutesy fics for these two, but I never know when inspiration strikes so I make no promises.  
> As always, english isn't my first language, and I apologize for any mistake you might find here.  
> I hope this brightens your day a little! Buh-byyyye!

They've fired him. Two years of hard work in that serpents' lair, never complaining nor ending up with a corpse to get rid of, and they've gone and fired him as soon as they got the chance.

Fuck, Mark needs that job, he really does. He needs money for rent and for Chica – especially for Chica, having a dog her size is much like having a child in terms of maintenance. And in terms of everything else, really.

Of course he can find another, probably rather quickly, too, but working in an office beats being an employee at Starbucks or KFC, at least for what concerns salary. And anyway, there are various stages he has to go through before he can start getting his life together and look for something.

One of them is the mandatory Pissed Off Drunk™, which would be... not that bad an idea, if Mark wasn't essentially allergic to alcohol. Since his body can't process it if it tries, however, with the second beer he dooms himself to a terrible night which could potentially lead to unspeakable consequences.

He doesn't even remember the name of the club he's in, and he's not sure he cares. Alcohol has begun to taste like anything he's ever tasted, and he would get another beer if only he knew who to ask one and how to pronounce words properly.

And there's that guy.

He's drinking... something, and he looks ridiculously cute doing so, though Mark suspects he'd look ridiculously cute doing pretty much everything and anything.

Which is unacceptable.

Mark won't have any of it, he's not going to condone such a behaviour, nu-huh. He's going to punch that cute face, he is. Serves him right.

Actually, you know what? Fuck that guy, and by that Mark means fuck that guy, not  _fuck_ that guy. Or maybe he means  _fuck_ that guy, he's not sure.

It's just that, well, Mark really doesn't fucking know. That Guy's got bright green hair that bring out his deep blue eyes and he's smiling so sweetly. That has to be illegal in a number of States.

He looks so out of place, there. Not in a bad way, but honestly, Mark would have expected to find someone like him in one of his dreams and fantasies and yikes, alcohol makes him disgustingly cheesy, what the heck? You're supposed to be angry, Markimoo, focus!

That Guy is laughing at something some dude who's blatantly flirting with him said.

Wait, some dude is blatantly flirting with him? Mark should be the Some Dude flirting up That Guy, what's going on?

Okay, alright, Mark is definitely punching That Guy, now. If he punches Some Dude there's not guarantee someone else won't come sweep That Guy off his feet, and Mark himself would most likely be thrown out of the club, thus becoming unable to check on the situation. If he punches That Guy, however, there's a chance he'll fuck up his face a little so that he'll stop being so freaking cute goddamn it fuck how dares he?

Fine, Mark's going in. He's charging, no turning back. He's aiming right for the face, everything makes perfect sense, he's as coordinated as he'll ever be and everything is going according to plan.

He hears himself shouting something, feels his legs move somehow and... nothing else.

 

 

So Jack must be out of his mind. Frankly, he knew that already, but he can't deny it under any circumstances now that he has decided to take a stranger who's tried to dislocate his jaw home with him. Hell, he's also given him his bed and resigned to sleeping on that hellish couch of his.

He's sitting at the kitchen table, a forgotten bowl of cereal in front of him. The corn flakes have become all soggy and they almost look miserable, or as miserable as soulless food can be.

One Punch Man looked a bit like them, the previous night. Soggy and miserable.

Jack knows his name is Mark Fischbach – he checked his documents, if anything – but he's determined not to call him that until he gets an official presentation and, furthermore, an explanation. He doesn't even demand a valid one, just an explanation, or even half of it. He isn't sure One Punch Man will remember anything that happened, though, let alone _why_ it happened.

After he'd tried punching Jack square in the face and ended up knocking himself out, Jack had had to rapidly decide what to do. People had immediately started asking him questions, and seeing the man passed out on the floor had made him feel sorry for him. Plus, let's just say that some dude was flirting with him and he really didn't know how to politely turn him down, so faking being a friend of the drunk guy was as good an option as any.

He'd been mostly unconscious a good seventy-five percent of the time, and dragging him up eight flights of stairs had been like walking to Hell and back, but now here they are.

Or well, here's Jack waiting for One Punch Man to wake up, which could take up to a week judging by the state he was in when he snuggled up in Jack's blankets with the softest of sighs.

Whatever.

 

 

The sole reason Mark finds the strength to wake up is that he's never needed to pee so badly in his entire life. He gets up from the bed he's in and groans loudly, because it feels like his brain has been taken out of his skull, turned upside down and put right back where it belonged. At least he's not nauseous, which has to count for something.

He goes looking for a bathroom before he even has the time to start asking himself where he is and why he's here, and since he doesn't really know what to do from there he just goes back to the bedroom as soon as he's finished.

There's a glass of water and an aspirin on the bedside table, and when he sees them a wave of gratitude washes over him. He swallows the pill and sits on the edge of the bed while sipping the remains of the water.

Alright, questions time.

What the fuck?

_Yeah, no, that's not a very good question, maybe restart, Mark. You can do it. You can avoid dumb questions if you try incredibly hard._

What happened last night?

It's all a big blur, he barely remembers anything. In retrospect, he knows he could and should have avoided drinking, but he's not entirely sure he wouldn't do it all the same if he had the chance to go back. Some hangovers, though not welcomed, are necessary. They help you put things into perspective – once you regain your sense of perspective, that is.

But yeah, whatever, he knows why he's gotten drunk, he knows how, the thing is: where is he? Has someone taken advantage of him? Has he drunkenly slept with a random person? Should he even have taken that aspirin?

_Mark, man, you're panicking. You're alright, just breathe, you'll figure it out._

He vaguely recalls a guy with green hair, but that's simply not enough. He needs to get to the bottom of this, and he's not going to if he just sits there forever, so he pulls on his jeans and exits the room once he's sure he can stand on his own two legs without suffering excessively.

 

 

When he gets to the kitchen, the green-haired dude from his hazy memories is sitting at the dining table. He looks up and, right in that moment, Mark is ready to forgive him for offering soggy corn flakes instead of a steaming stack of pancakes – what? There's always pancakes in movies –, because he suddenly remembers. Or, well, he remember the most important thing, anyway: That Guy. He'd struck him like lightning the night before, made him forget his own name.

Alright, that had probably been the alcohol, but still, he... oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

Jesus Christ on a bike with no handle.

«I fucked up, didn't I?»

That Guy laughs briefly, and Mark can't help but think he's possibly the cutest human being he's ever seen. His eyes shrink when he laughs, what kind of adorable bullshit is that?

«I have to admit it was a close call, there.»

Mark frowns.

«So, what? I haven't punched you?»

That Guy shakes his head.

«You yelled something along the lines of “MY FISTS OF FURY KNOW NO CHILL” and proceeded to knock yourself out, man.»

Mark groans and rubs his face vigorously with both hands. Well, that's embarrassing.

«I'm so, so sorry.»

«I'm assuming you're apologizing to yourself.»

Mark has to giggle. That Guys makes him giggle, for fuck's sake, how unfair can his life be?

«As a matter of fact, I am, yes.»

That Guy laughs again and damn if he isn't the loudest person he's ever encountered. If only he wasn't as endearing as he is loud.

«But I'm also sorry about almost punching you», Mark says.

That Guy shrugs it off.

«I'm just curious, to be honest», he states, «Do we know each other?»

Then, he widens his eyes, like he's just realized something.

«Are you the owner of the car I scratched the other day? Look, mate, there was very little space between–»

«Jeez, dude, my car is fine!», Mark exclaims, «And no, we don't know each other, but I can explain, I guess. First things first, though, my name is Mark.»

He offers That Guy a hand and braces himself.

The moment of truth. He'll finally know That Guy's name – right before scaring him away with his wonderful, not at all creepy and perfectly logical explanation as to why he almost punched him.

«I was kind of getting used to calling you One Punch Man in my mind, but whatever, Mark will do.»

He grabs Mark's hand while the latter tries to wrap his head around the fact that That Guy is potentially as ridiculous as he is.

«I'm Seán, but everybody calls me Jack, so there are times where I forget that's not my real name», he says.

«Should I just call you Genos and get it over with?»

The smile he gets in response makes him go weak at the knees.

«Basically, what happened was...», he begins, «You know with baby animals, the way you sometimes get the urge to, like, crush them? Hug them to death?»

Jack looks at him with a so very concerned look.

«I suppose? I mean, what the fuck, but also I guess, yeah?»

Mark makes a tiny, apologetic smile.

«Well, I read somewhere that it happens because your body doesn't know how to react to such a cute, little, tiny thing, so it tries to kill it because that's the only way it'll stop being all adorable and whatnot.»

It's silent for a while. Jack is trying to decide what his opinion about this is, except he isn't even sure he has one.

«So what you're saying is you tried to physically fight me because you  find me cute?»

Mark makes a face. He'd known this was going to come o ff as weird, he just hadn't realized precisely  how weird.

«... pretty much.»

Jack frowns.

«Couldn't you just, I don't know, introduce yourself, ask me out or something?»

Mark thinks about it for a while, though he probably should have thought about it the night before.

«I could have, you make a compelling argument, but I feel it's necessary to take into consideration the fact that I was completely out of it, and – wait. You would have said yes?»

Jack shrugs and lowers his gaze, posing it on the forgotten spoon he should've used to eat the forgotten corn flakes.

«You never asked, you'll never know.»

Mark grins.

«Are you trying to trick me into asking you out, now?»

Jack looks up, his chin resting on the palm of his hand.

«Do you _want_ to ask me out?»

Mark blurts out a very loud, exaggeratedly enthusiastic «Yes!» before he has the chance to stop himself, and Jack laughs. Mark joins him, but not before he's cringed at himself and his own stupidity for an adequate amount of time.

«Alright, whatever, you win – sweet Lord am I getting used to the bitter taste of defeat –, would you go out with some complete stranger who's definitely never drinking again and who's therefore likely not to punch you, like, ever?»

Jack grins and shakes his head. Mark fears he's about to act like any normal person would and refuse, tell him to just go home already.

But, apparently, Jack's about as ordinary as he is, or just very lonely. He might even just be astonishingly dumb, one of the three anyway, because he says:

«Maybe I will, yeah. Who in their right mind would say no to such a promising date?»

Mark doesn't really know what to say. He wasn't expecting this to go well, but oh boy is he taking it.

«Oh», he says, rather unoriginally, «Yeah, no, of course, who would? That's what I thought.»

Jack laughs yet again, mumbling something along the lines of “what the fuck just happened”, and Mark has to agree.

What the fuck just happened?

«Aren't you hungry?», Jack asks.

Mark's stomach protests embarrassingly loudly the moment he says that.

«Starving», he admits.

Jack gets up to throw his soggy cereals into the bin.

Mark doesn't want to stare, but damn, he's only human and that guy is all sorts of pretty, with his pyjama pants and his messy, fluorescent hair.

«Do you want corn flakes?»

«Corn flakes is fine, I forgive you for not having made pancakes like they do in movies.»

Jack turns in his direction with a look of exasperated fondness, one he'll use very often in the near future.

«Well, thank fuck for that.»


End file.
